School trip

It was from our laughter that echoed off the glass and worked within us the same way those seemingly prehensile pictograms reach out their branches for you and constrict what they can.

in reality the characters are neat, regular perfectly contained in each little white square, black strokes twisting into the white paper.

there is some new mystery in that structured darkness, a prescribed nothing. what made the most impression on me was the temple, reconstructed as a skeleton, joints held brittle with glass. it surrounded me like the transparent guarantee of a prayer; far off some same smoke twisted a joy for me.

I am somewhere else now. those winding things got into my veins and I am not coming back.

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